


Oh Bloody Fuck, It's Harry Potter

by UndeniableEnigma



Category: Drarry - Fandom, Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Plot Bunny, used up a useless English class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeniableEnigma/pseuds/UndeniableEnigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cue panic attack:  Draco Malfoy, center…bed. Annnnd…go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Bloody Fuck, It's Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this was something that occupied me while my fellow classmates were being stupid or boring or arguing with the Prof, whatever. The plot bunny bit sometime between looking at the clock and doodling.

There was a slight pounding in the back of his neck, not his head as he would have expected, but his neck; right below the base of his skull. He wiggled his fingers, feeling coming back into his right arm where it was crooked under his pillow, his head on top, weighing it down. As he further gained consciousness he began to wonder why he had no real feelings of a hangover, because he did remember going to that party and downing quite a few drinks after there had been a few Death Eater slurs muttered in his direction. That had hurt a lot more than he would have liked to admit; it had been a fair while since the last one, and he had worked so damn hard to ensure he had a stable place in polite society as he tried to- if not _restore_ , at least _save_ the Malfoy name. Much to his chagrin the bloody Saviour had to step in and defend his honour. Meddling goody, goody that he is, Draco thought. But the rest of the evening was fuzzy: he drank quite a bit more, found something rather nice looking in a…Navy blue cloak, was it? and went to their place for a quick bit of late night fun.

 Draco doesn’t even remember going back to the Mansion though, it’s a wonder he didn’t splinch himself! Oh well, he was home now and could stretch out and sleep the day away. Just as he shifted one leg to reach further, Draco realized that what had before just felt like a very comfortable warmth wrapped around his legs was actually _another_ pair of legs. Hardly ever before had he brought anyone home, must have been drunker than I thought, he silently mused. Draco absentmindedly shifted his left arm, wondering how on earth to kick the unwanted individual out of his bed and house without a) having to move from bed, b) speak to the person, and c) getting an angry slap, when he realized that while they were very soft and silky, the sheets were not the same quality or thread count as those he insisted be put on his bed. And the houselves would not dare do otherwise. So if they weren’t his sheets, then it wasn’t his bed, which meant it’s not his home either, meaning that he stayed the night at someone else’s home. Draco’s brain momentarily shut down; he never stayed the night with anyone, no matter how good a face or body, no matter how good the sex was, no matter how much he honestly had _tried_ when he was seriously dating Astoria a few years ago. None of it mattered, he never felt comfortable or safe or natural enough with anyone. Maybe it was vulnerability, (though he wouldn’t admit that), maybe it was just that his inner self knew he didn’t really fit with anyone. But yet here he was, sleeping in someone else’s bed, until – (he checked his muggle watch)-10:48! And damn it, it had been a good, deep, rejuvenating sleep. The best since he couldn’t remember when.  

Draco blinked a few times, looking far too closely at the dark green pillow. Huh, well, he thought to himself, might as well see who this miraculous person was before he vacated the bed to sneak off home. Carefully twisting around onto his left side, leaving his legs tangled with the other mans…? ...Yes, he could feel downy hair tickling his calves; he peaked over to see one single tuft of jet black hair sticking up from where his bedmate was buried under the covers. Well that’s real helpful with the identity search Draco thought to himself before pausing, then continuing to reach a hand out to lift the sheets, they shifted with the motion, and even if he hadn’t recognized the newly revealed entirety of the unruly dark hair (which he did), the bare expanse of well-muscled back that was now exposed bore a scar right on the edge of the right shoulder blade, running straight down and curving to the left. It was fainter than many other smaller scars that littered the nicely tanned skin, but he still recognized it. He knew what made it too; a broken broom handle that had been hurled down the hallway in Hogwarts like a javelin, third year. He has a scar on the very top of his left bicep, just a simple curve from where the wood had clipped him after being automatically sent back towards him by his opponent’s magic. The body right beside him was none other than Harry Potter. All those years ago he hadn’t know that when Potter was struck his magic would have a mind of its own and defend its owner’s prone body, just another reason to hate the boy who was already special enough.

When Draco had seen the hair he had stopped blinking, when he noticed the scar he stopped breathing, and as the body in front of him gave a snuffling noise, flipped onto its back and looked up at him with big, shiny, emerald green eyes his heart stopped beating. Cue panic attack:  Draco Malfoy, center…bed. Annnnd…go. He started breathing again, if you could call the sudden gasps and rasps of air he was taking in as breathing. Looking alarmed, Harry sat up, forcing Draco to bend back to get away, but with his legs still tangled with Harry’s under the blankets, he simply flipped backwards. It was uncomfortable, but he was somehow now completely covered by sheets, so Draco thought it would be a good place to just wait to die of mortification. (He had slept with bloody Harry fucking Potter, literally _slept_ with him, his brain supplied unhelpfully). But no such luck, because apparently Harry thought it was a brilliant idea to lift the covers from his face and peer down at him with amusement, sleepiness, and curiosity showing in his eyes. All Draco could think was ‘Oh bloody fuck, it’s Harry Potter, I’m honestly in bed with Harry fucking Potter’. Plus he was pretty sure he might have yelped a bit when he went backwards. Harry pursed lips, still looking at Draco, “That wasn’t really the reaction I was hoping for, but I suppose it’s to be expected.” He said calmly, leaving Draco gaping at him from halfway over the side of the bed, ready to begin hyperventilating all over again. 


End file.
